Cycles
by ShadowPrincess-Shekailaia
Summary: Wilson was hiding something. House wanted to know what, but was it really worth it to find out? HouseWilson. NOW COMPLETED.
1. Reminiscence

**Cycles**

**Part 1: Reminiscence**

**_September 23rd, 1733—London, England_**

_The cobbled streets were dark with the coming midnight. The heavy fog blocked the light of the full moon, clouding the city of London in a light mist. The flickering flames of the streetlamps cast small circles of light, but visibility was so low, they were useless unless you were standing directly beneath one._

_The shutters on the stone buildings were closed against the cold. Even if they had been open, no one would have seen the lone figure striding briskly down the walkway. The only sign that the man was even there was a slight disturbance in the swirling mist seen by the lamplight, but then, it could've just been the wind._

_The man looked to the street signs, reassuring himself that he was indeed going the right direction. Adjusting his broad-brimmed hat, he started again, his cloak flowing silently behind him. He clutched the surrounding garment closer to his body, preserving the warmth within. His pace quickened, soon developing into a run as he realized that he was short on time. Soon enough, the large, Victorian manor was within sight. A grin spread across his face in anticipation of what was going to happen…_

**April 2nd, 2007**

"Did you kill a puppy today?" Wilson flinched at the voice, sighing before turning from the elevators to face the man coming toward him.

"What?" he asked, wondering what House was up to. The other man closed the distance between them, obviously leaving for the night. His backpack was slung over his shoulder and his iPod ear buds were in his hand.

It was late, and Wilson was surprised to see that House was still here. He would've been out of here by now, but paperwork and patient meetings had kept him late. House had no patients at all; his most recent one had been discharged that morning. As the elevator doors opened, House gave his reply.

"You have that look Cameron gets when she's forced to tell someone they're dying. Since you don't seem to have a problem with that, it must be something worse." House and Wilson walked through the doors, and House pressed the button for the lobby.

"Paperwork," Wilson explained. "I'm just tired."

"Well, I have beer. It's guaranteed to counteract the effects of cancer kiddies and… _paperwork_," House said, quirking an eyebrow at Wilson.

"Yes. That's the cure for everything. Get drunk and forget about it. However, the idea of being hung over tomorrow morning in board meetings doesn't sit well with me. Your 'cure' will have to wait," Wilson replied, sighing again.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open, revealing the lobby.

"Well, if that doesn't work, then there's always the chicken chow mien as backup," House said, limping through the opened doors to the darkened lobby.

"Sorry. I have other things that I have to… take care of," he replied hesitantly. The two friends walked together to the double doors leading outside before stopping. House turned to Wilson and stared at him for a few seconds before raising an eyebrow and shrugging.

"Suit yourself, then. If you change your mind, you still have your key," he said and pushed through the double doors. Wilson stared after him, watching as the yellowish parking lamps flickered, adding to the illumination of the full moon.

Tonight was going to be a long night.

* * *

_As the man arrived at the front gate of the manor, he glanced around the area for any sign of surveillance before removing his hat and cloak, folding them neatly, and hiding them in a nearby bush. He then climbed the fence and dropped down the other side. Crouching in the grass, he listened again for signs of alarm before dashing to the rear face of the building for his entry point. The tenant was bothered by the heat and kept a ground level window cracked open every night, making it easier for the man to make his entrance._

_Silently easing the window open wider, he stepped in, careful of the scattered objects lying about. The tenant must be a messy housekeeper, leaving breakables underfoot, the man thought, tip-toeing over the trinkets. Reaching around to his back, he made sure the proper tools were close at hand in case he needed them quickly. _

_Taking a deep breath, the man quickened his pace to the stairs before ascending to the top level, where the master bedroom resided…  
_

* * *

The darkened forest was silent, the only sounds being the patter of paws against the soft, dirt surface. The canopy of leaves almost completely blocked the moon's illumination. If the light had revealed the path, anyone would have seen the creature's footprints change as they traveled further, shrinking and morphing. The creature sped through the rows of trees, set on a specific destination, and nothing would keep him from it. The map of trees was etched in his mind, and he didn't even have to think before moving to avoid a tree or jumping over a large root or ducking under a stray branch.

His instincts guided his movements, and before long, he realized that he was at a clearing, blissfully illuminated by the moon. It was a small area; nothing special. There was a small pond to the side, but everything else was dirt. There was the trunk of a long fallen tree near the pond, and the creature jumped onto it, casting an eye to the silver sphere in the sky, all the while, feeling the instinctual bloodlust of so many years past…

* * *

_Upon noticing the soft breathing of sleep from the interior of the master bedroom, the man opened the door silently, ever careful of his footing. His instincts guided his hand as he pulled out his weapon of choice: a thin dagger approximately 8 inches long. The blade was on both edges, so he didn't need to check his hand placement before moving forward._

_The bed appeared occupied, the sleeping body turned away from him as he entered the room fully. He monitored his breathing, making sure it was in sync with the sleeper's before coming any closer. He stepped with long, sure, and silent strides, making it to the bedside in less than five paces. Taking a deep breath, he reached out with a hand and seized the edge of the cover, jumping back with a gasp as the figure caved in and the blanket flattened to the bed._

_Hearing the door slam shut behind him, he twisted sharply, holding his knife out in defense. Upon seeing the other man standing with his back to the wall and arm still out at his side, he discovered that he couldn't move. Paralyzed by magic or some other force he did not know, but this man caused it, whatever it was._

"_I've been expecting you for quite some time, Mr. Wilson."_

* * *

The creature lifted his head from the pond, twitching his ears in a slight irritation. This late at night, everything was asleep and burrowed deep in the ground. Nothing was within reach that could even be considered food. Climbing back onto the decaying trunk, he listened carefully, hoping with some sense that he would actually hear some poor foolish animal trying to wander around this late. 

He turned an eye to the moon again, resisting the urge to announce his presence throughout the entire forest, and instead letting out a low growl. He pawed the dewy surface of the log, wishing it were some caribou's throat he was crushing instead. At least then the gnawing hunger wouldn't be coursing through him like a virus threatening to take over his mind.

There was no way he could go back the way he had come. If the chance even presented itself he would strike, and then a mountain of suspicion would arise, making sure that he had to escape to New York before even thinking of running about again. That thought, though an unimportant, weaker instinct, was enough to keep him in his spot, staring at the moon for as long as he needed.

* * *

"_You're supposed to be asleep!" he exclaimed, shifting his foot slightly. If he couldn't get the man while he was asleep, he would kill him where he stood. Granted it would be messier, but it was necessary._

"_Not everything is as it seems, Mr. Wilson. I knew that you would be after my life tonight, and so I lied in wait for you. You aren't as stealthy as you think you are."_

_Wilson raised his blade, shifting his weight on his hind foot. "Die,"—and he pushed off, dashing the short distance to the wall. Before his foot touched the ground again, he was stopped, frozen in time, unable to move an inch. He struggled, trying to move his hand in any direction at all. If at all possible, he could throw his blade to cover the distance he couldn't and finish the job that way. Alas, it was futile, for he couldn't escape the spell._

"_What is this?" he asked, becoming still. The other man stepped from the wall, raising a hand to Wilson's eye level. With a quick flick of the wrist that Wilson almost didn't catch, he stilled his hand again, and Wilson squinted his eyes, feeling his head throb in a coming headache. _

"_This is your punishment. I'm not your first attempted victim. You have tried and succeeded in killing hundreds before me. You are a cold-blooded murderer, and you cannot be allowed to live without consequences. I'll make you live in regret, counting your eternal life by each painful month." Wilson was released then, and he moved to swiftly end the life of his captor, halting as a sickening feeling overcame him. _

_The curtains behind him had been blown aside by the wind, and the full moon's light cut through the heavy fog, shining through the one window and shedding its light on Wilson. He dropped to his knees, dropping the knife in his hand to the floor next to him as he clutched his head, feeling a strange, yet painful pulsing in the deepest recesses of his mind. _

_He felt his entire body become itchy, and he was still in pain. His mouth was shifting, he could feel it but do nothing to stop it. Another consciousness was overcoming his mind, drowning his rational self in a mass of raw instinct. His hands were also changing, morphing painfully into something not himself. He lost himself in the pain, unknowing of any occurrences around him._

_When the pain had receded to a dull throbbing at the back of his mind, he opened his eyes to see a sight that was not his. He smelled things that were not normal, the delicate wafts covering his senses in a near confusion until he figure out how to separate each strand of scent. His sense of touch was also not as it should be. He was constricted somehow, before realizing that the constraints were his own clothing. _

"_What is going on here_!?"_ he asked, realizing that no words had come out of his mouth._

"_Your punishment. This is the beast you will become the night of each month that the moon is full," the man said, reaching behind him to grasp a mirror. When Wilson saw what he had become, he howled, unable to speak anything else.  
_

* * *

As he ran back through the trees, Wilson got to thinking, like he did on all of these nights. He started thinking about how this change had affected how he lived today. How he treated House, his patients, and his job. It was almost a complete one-eighty from what he was before. 

It was past midnight. As a matter of fact, it was nearing two in the morning. It was late enough to make it back to his apartment, push open his carefully adjusted door, and settle down for the night. He could do it unnoticed and make it in the next morning without any suspicion at all. Four hours of sleep was pushing it, but not impossible tonight. He called it a plan and dashed at full speed the rest of the way back, taking every alleyway shortcut he could find.

In fact, Wilson had managed to elude suspicion for the most part. He came in the next morning, though tired, reasonably well enough on the outside to pass for his usual self. However, there was one who knew that Wilson wasn't completely as he seemed.

House looked on from the clinic room as his friend came in actually later than him for once. Of course, since he had come in early, that wasn't saying much. However, it was still bothering him.

Wilson had been a no-show last night, and that was unusual. Even though he had said that he had other things to do, House would usually find him at his door at some later hour, having changed his mind. He didn't even need to analyze the fact that his shoulders were slouched so much, it looked as if he would be dead on his feet if there weren't so many people looking at him. House made a mental point to raid Wilson's office later and figure out exactly what was going on.

_**To Be Continued**_


	2. Suspicion

_I apologize for the long wait. I'm horrible with WIPs... Anyway, here is part two of the Cycles Trilogy. I hope you enjoy._

**Cycles**

**Part 2: Suspicion**

It was official: Wilson was hiding something. The only problem now was that House had no idea what the big secret could be. Ever since the missed invitation about two weeks ago, Wilson had been awfully edgy. And sure, maybe he was losing more patients than usual, there could be a million other explanations for why Wilson was acting the way he was around his friend, but none had sit well with House at all.

This thought process is exactly what led to House sitting in Wilson's office chair that afternoon, snooping through his desk drawers while the friend in question was in a department head meeting that House had so conveniently escaped, yet again. Leaning forward for another go, House started pulling open drawers, rifling through the items as if he would end up finding some secret Cuddy-obsessed shrine or something.

"Come on!" House exclaimed, slamming another drawer shut. "There's got to be _something_ going on here! Some illicit blackmail material that I could hold over his head!" Checking the bottom drawer on his left, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was locked. "Bingo."

House pulled out a paperclip from another drawer and unfolded it, attempting to pick the lock. After a few tries, he threw it down and felt under the table for the release. With a click, the drawer unlocked and House pulled it open.

"Of course." The drawer was filled with patient files, organized alphabetically, and House rolled his eyes at the sight. Of course Mister Professional-Doctor would have something like this set up. Closing the drawer, House leaned back in the chair again, reaching in his pocket for his bottle of Vicodin and dry-swallowed one.

House had no idea what he expected to find. Maybe a list of phone numbers for every nurse in the oncology department, his secret journal, who knows what. Well, there was still a lot of office to search, but there was no way he would have the time to do that. Wilson was probably on his way back to his office now, preparing to get ready for some cancer cue ball to come in to thank him again.

Grabbing his cane, he stood up and made his way to the balcony, admitting defeat, for now. He'd figure it out sooner or later, with or without Wilson's help.

Wilson leaned back in his chair later that afternoon, running a hand over his face after a patient had left with the prognosis of a year to live. Another day, another three patients that had thanked him, and it was all coming down on him, suffocating him like some invisible blanket. The gratitude and hope he saw everyday in his patients' faces had always affected some deeper part of him that couldn't be shown. Wilson was grateful for the chance to relax for a while without distractions.

_The man opened his mouth in a silent scream as Wilson drew his blade. Before any sound could come from the victim, Wilson aimed his slash at the man's throat, forcing blood to spatter everywhere, including the invisible droplets on Wilson's own black suit._

"Ah!" Wilson shot out of his chair, gripping the desk frantically for something to hold onto. As he struggled to slow his breathing, he heard the clatter as House dropped his cane on his side of the balcony. Quickly schooling his expression, he brought his most recent patient file to the center of the desk and opened it, trying to focus on something other than the constant flashbacks.

With a quick glance to his desktop planner before the limping twerp opened the door, he saw that it was April 24th, eight days until the full moon. He forced the thought to the back of his mind as the balcony door opened, House walking through it and sitting at the chair in front of Wilson's desk.

"What's up? I'm busy," Wilson said automatically, glancing up at his friend before turning back to the file.

"Bored. Kids are running tests and Cuddy wants me in the clinic. I don't feel like diagnosing runny noses all day," House said, leaning his chin on the handle of his cane.

"So you decided to come in here with the hopes that I'll hide you. You know this is the first place Cuddy will look," Wilson replied, closing the file and giving up any hope that he would be able to get some work done right now.

"True. But it buys me a few minutes. Bring pizza tonight. I have movies and beer." And with that, House was gone, leaving the way he had come. Wilson sighed again, and turned to the lone file on his desk, knowing that there was no way he was going to be able to concentrate right now. He leaned back in his chair, thinking about one of the many flashbacks that he had been having lately. Ever since last month, they had been increasing in intensity and frequency, even coming into his dreams. It made him think a little bit.

Had the events of his past really had an effect on who he was today? The way he treats House, his patients, his colleagues, it was a complete one-eighty from how it would've played out so many years ago. Part of him wondered briefly how House would react if he figured out that Wilson had once been a cold-blooded murderer.

"No. He doesn't need to find that out. That part of my life is way behind me," he said aloud with a small laugh. _But it still affects you today, James. Just look at what you become every month. _Shaking his head against the flooding thoughts, he stood, figuring that he should probably get in some clinic hours before too long.

House turned his head as he heard the knock at his door later that night. Looking to the digital clock on his television, he thought, _about time._

"You have your key, use it," he said as he got to his feet. Limping to the kitchen, he opened the fridge and got out two bottles of beer as he heard the door open. Walking back to the living room, he saw Wilson set down a large pizza box before sitting down on the couch, lifting his feet onto the coffee table and leaning back, sighing.

"You look like someone refused you a date. Have a beer." House tossed one of the bottles to Wilson as he sat down, opening his own bottle.

"Thanks," he replied. House took a drink while observing his friend, wondering what was wrong. Wilson looked out of it, even though he seemed perfectly fine this afternoon. For a moment he thought that Wilson might have lost another patient, but he would've heard about it. _What's going on here, Jimmy?_

"So, you going to spill or not?" House asked. Wilson tilted his head up and looked toward his friend.

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking slightly surprised.

"Well, something obviously happened today. You went from "normal" to "I-feel-like-drowning-all-my-sorrows" in less than three hours. Something's going on." House blinked. Did Wilson actually look _relieved_ at that? Wilson sighed, chuckling under his breath.

"You owe me thirty," was all he said before turning back to the TV. House raised an eyebrow, alarms going off in his mind.

Yup, Wilson was hiding something alright. The only problem was how to get Wilson to spill. Maybe a few more beers would loosen him up a bit. Wilson wasn't usually the admitting drunk, but if asked the right questions…

Six beers and an hour later, Wilson was finally what would be considered drunk. He leaned his head back against the sofa, his tie gone, collar undone and telling some joke about one of the patients he had in clinic today who obviously didn't know what diabetes was. House laughed along, only slightly buzzed himself. He may have been eager for a high, but he wasn't stupid enough to mix beer and Vicodin to the point where he was nearly passed out.

House tried asking Wilson what was going on without being too conspicuous, but with the raised eyebrows he was getting from the other man, he figured that he obviously was not going to get any answers tonight. There was also no way Wilson was going home tonight, so that was a mild accomplishment. House figured that he would test whether or not that truth in sleep thing really worked.

Eventually, House stood up, making his way to the closet for a pillow and a blanket. He practically threw them at Wilson and with an uttered "good night", House shut himself in his room, willing to wait a few hours while relaxing a bit himself.

When he woke up, House immediately looked to the clock on his nightstand and discovered that it was nearing three in the morning. Rising reluctantly, he limped to the hallway, and eventually heard murmuring coming from the couch. _Maybe I won't have to try out the honesty thing after all…_

House limped further into the room, the whispers on the couch easier to distinguish now. House raised an eyebrow at how much Wilson talked in his sleep before deciding to sit on the table and listen in for a while.

Wilson was tossing, obviously in the middle of something vivid or a nightmare. House snorted in slight amusement at the idea of him falling off the couch because of his tossing.

"_House…"_ Wilson groaned. House looked to his face, trying to dissect his expression. It seemed…_pained?_ Nightmare then. Wincing slightly, House regretted getting up and walking around without taking at least a Vicodin first. Lifting himself off the table, he limped toward his room, going for his pill bottle.

"_Leave him alone!"_ House turned back to the form on the couch, surprised at the shout. Apparently his friend was still asleep, so he kept going. After taking a couple pills, he went back to his post at the coffee table, a part of him wondering why he was going to such lengths. "_Leave…out of this…not involved." _ But Wilson really was _lucid_ in his sleep. It was hard to just ignore it. He yawned, asking himself why this thing would go to such lengths as to keep him awake just to discover this big secret.

"_House!" _House had enough… It was a nightmare, not much to get out of this. Getting up slowly, he limped back to his room, stopping suddenly as he heard the next words that came out of Wilson's mouth.

"…_Love…him." _ House turned slightly, looking skeptically at the form still tossing on the couch. Raising an eyebrow, he wondered what could possibly be going on in Wilson's head. Ideas flitted in his mind, and House was able to form a small hypothesis before going back to sleep.

Over the next week, House spent all of his free time in Wilson's business, and even some time that wasn't free. Cuddy was still after him for the clinic, and he had even gone as far as asking Foreman to break into Wilson's apartment. Of course, Foreman had raised an eyebrow and blew everything off as a joke. House even managed to get his hands on Wilson's cell phone (but that really did nothing except have Wilson go on a frantic search for the darned thing, and there was nothing really relevant, so House soon returned it). That left the next evening.

"You're a pretty hard person to figure out, Wilson," House said, leaning forward slightly on the concrete barrier. Wilson, who had just arrived moments ago after meeting with a patient, looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

They both were on the balconies that joined their offices. House was on Wilson's side of the wall, and Wilson had come out to meet him, needing some fresh air from the clear night.

"I pride myself in keeping up a mysterious appearance," Wilson retorted, settling into the normal banter to try and settle the slight anxiety in his stomach.

"But I think I figured you out." House turned to face Wilson, whose expression had gone from sarcastic to surprised.

"What are you talking about?" Wilson asked, his inward anxiety increasing tenfold before his rational mind could do anything about it.

"You, my friend, are madly in love with me." Wilson blinked. He looked for any sign on House's face that relayed this as a joke. He blinked again. Then he started laughing.

"What makes you think that?" he asked after his laughter managed to quiet.

"Easy. I've done extensive research, and you're obviously hiding something. But, even simpler than that, there's your reaction to this." And House kissed him, watching Wilson's wide-eyed reaction before he went along and kissed back.

It was like some sort of cliché fairy tale. House wasn't really being possessive about it, like Wilson thought he might be; instead, it was more like gentle. Uncharacteristically gentle, and Wilson felt his mind react almost instantly. He forgot completely about his previous anxiety, surrendering to the euphoria that was this moment. He could get used to this.

House leaned back against the wall, and Wilson followed him, now leading the kiss. It was a really clear night, and the flood lamps added in with the light from both their offices, mixed with yet another source of illumination.

Wilson looked at the oddly bright moon from the corner of his eye, and his ecstasy turned instantly into abject horror, the pit in his stomach deepening indefinitely.

It was a full moon.

**_To Be Continued_**


	3. Discovery

**Cycles**

**Part 3: Discovery**

With the shock of realization, Wilson pulled away, looking frantically between the moon and House's face, which held a surprised look with an underlay of rejection in his eyes. Wilson felt the anxiety in his stomach increase tenfold at the thought of House witnessing his monstrous transformation.

"I… have to… go," Wilson breathed before bolting through his office door, his heart beating frantically. Being exposed to the moon for that long, he was surprised that he hadn't started changing yet. He felt his other mind rising through his consciousness as he furiously pressed the elevator button, and he tried to suppress the transformation for as long as possible.

Wilson jumped when the elevators chimed, quickly running in and hitting the lobby button repeatedly, hoping for the lift to move faster. As the elevator slowly crawled the distance, Wilson banged his fists against the walls, trying to think through the throbbing invading his mind. He looked at his warped reflection in the dented metal, feeling the teeth in his mouth shift uncomfortably. His eyes were already changing shape, and his ears picked up distant sounds he should not have been able to hear.

_Please,_ he thought, _just please let me get out of here unnoticed._

Wilson's head shot up as the elevators chimed again, the doors opening and revealing the lobby. He ran, sprinting with a speed he should not possess, toward the exit, glad that no one was down here late at night. As soon as Wilson was out of sight from any meandering eyes, he stopped struggling for control and let the beast within take over.

All conscious thought had eluded House's mind even before Wilson bolted. His only action was fueled by instinct rather than conscious thought as he pressed on every "down" button he could find in the elevator area, impatient at how long it was taking to get a lift.

House may not have really been thinking clearly, but he knew how to tell when someone was enjoying something, and Wilson was definitely enjoying that. Whether it was shock at what he had done, nervousness, or something else, House needed to know. His own curious sanity depended on it.

Two minutes later, House was in the parking lot, looking on as Wilson's car stayed where it was, his motorcycle sitting right next to it. Sweeping his gaze through the lot, he second-guessed himself; maybe Wilson hadn't left the hospital.

There!

House twisted around as much as he could, supported by one leg, after seeing a flash of white from the corner of his peripheral vision. The white thing was Wilson's shirt—it had to be—quickly retreating into the darkness, thanks to the large gray-furred dog whose neck it was tied around. There was no way House could catch up if his life depended on it, and his instinct told him to follow it. His eyes fell on his motorcycle.

House jumped on, practically shoving the key in the ignition and revving the engine before taking off, not even considering putting on a helmet, or his jacket, for that matter, which he had left on his chair in his office.

House was chastising himself as he caught up to the dog in the middle of the street. For what reason would a dog have Wilson's shirt tied around his neck? Why was a stray dog this large even still walking the streets? His rational thoughts slowly caught up with his curious instinct, making him lose confidence in his actions.

Instinct made an immediate comeback as he realized where the dog was heading. Now that he had blocked off the alley that the dog had ducked into and turned off his engine, he dismounted the bike and looked into the window of his own living room. Hearing a soft growl from the dark alley, he turned his gaze, hardly able to see the silhouette of the mangy creature in the dim light. House pulled out the penlight from his front pocket and switched it on, flashing it toward the animal.

What he saw in the full light surprised him, but he covered his shock, instead raising an eyebrow. Adjusting his hold on his cane, he gripped it tighter, walking into the darkness to speak to the large, shorthaired, grey wolf with the familiar chocolate-brown eyes.

"You know, I find it strange that your first instinct is to come here."

_Please, House, don't come any closer. Please._ Wilson knew what was going on outside his control. The mass of raw instinct with a predator's gleam would rip out House's throat in seconds if given the chance. _You have no idea what you're dealing with. Just get out of here!_

Telepathy was not one of Wilson's many gifts, and that was obvious as House moved a step closer to the wolf. He gripped his cane at a clubber's angle, ready to use it in defense if needed, as if it would help. Wilson panicked, as he knew that the wolf would take it as a threat and attack.

Wilson braced himself for the action. He waited, his mind a cowardly presence, covering his eyes and huddling into a corner like a child. The reason he ran was to get away from this possibility. He didn't want to see House get hurt by his lack of control. This was his worst nightmare come true. He waited, preparing to wince at the taste of blood in his mouth any minute.

He didn't taste anything, but felt a pressure on the back of his neck. His eyes shot open, looking directly into House's face, his nose pressed to House's cheek. Did he not realize how dangerous this was? Did he not know what he was doing?

"Wilson?" Wilson froze, all thoughts dying in his mind as he heard it. Next he heard a soft laugh, accompanied by another stroke of his back.

Wilson twisted his head around and closed his mouth around House's arm gently. House froze, tension in every muscle. Wilson could smell the fear; hear the heart beating faster, though he did a good job of keeping his breathing even. He released the arm, and ducked out from House's reach.

_You may not understand me, House, but if this creature in my mind isn't going to kill you, I might as well make the most of it. Follow me, if you can figure out that much._

Wilson walked slowly toward the front door, waiting for House to catch up so he could open it. Eventually House got over his shock and let him in.

"Listen, buddy. You chew my shoes and you're out, you got that? I paid a fortune for these." Wilson inwardly laughed at that as he weaved through House's legs to get inside. Princeton nights were _cold_.

**June 1****st****, 2007**

"Are you sure—?

"Just… leave me alone for a while. I don't need you to see this. Not yet." Wilson gently closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, staring through the open window to the full moon.

It had been a month exactly since House found him that night. Since then, Wilson had explained to House everything he needed to know. The sorcerer had transformed him that night over 300 years ago. It took a while to convince House of the fact that he was nearly three centuries old, but he had eventually accepted it, like he had accepted the fact that he was going to be living with an animal—quite literally—once a month.

Wilson had moved back in with House, after figuring out that House did have a guest room, and after House promised that there would be no more pranks. As a matter of fact, it was cheaper, and it was closer to the hospital, so it was a plus for Wilson. It also gave the werewolf a chance to do a bit of thinking.

Why _hadn't_ he ripped out House's throat that night? By all means, he should have. The creature's instinct wouldn't have let House anywhere near him without pouncing. So what happened?

Wilson was about to test that out right now. Looking at the pale circle in the night sky, he quickly felt the changes coming. He had made sure to take off his clothes before hand; he couldn't afford another mess like a month ago. Security was investigating the shredded pants for a week.

Wilson hunched over onto all fours, not fighting it like he had all his life. The throbbing in his head was much quieter now, easing the transition. His teeth morphed in his mouth, his hands transforming into paws that could crush a deer's throat, his senses shifting into the gradually familiar canine senses. Finished, Wilson faced the door and lifted a paw, letting it glance the wood.

House wasn't going into this blind like he had last month either. After Wilson told him that it was probably a once in a lifetime deal, House had made sure to prepare for next time. Skeptical, he had bought a muzzle and a leash pole in case Wilson couldn't control himself. It wouldn't help much, but it would buy him a few seconds to grab the tranquilizer gun out of his room.

The door opened slowly, House standing far away from the entrance, cane in one hand, and pole in the other. Wilson calmly walked out, turning to face the other man. Feeling nothing that would force him to give up control, he lay down, his message to House that he was fine.

House put down the pole and limped forward. Wilson still felt nothing. He was puzzled at this. Why would he be able to control himself around only one person? Thinking it over, Wilson finally came across the answer, as House was stroking the back of his neck again.

There never was another consciousness in his mind. He was stupid to think that. What came up as the raw instinct was his past, catching up with him. His instinct as a killer had manifested itself in his transformations, lashing out the only way it knew how when threatened. It was his mistrust and killer instinct that forced his violent reactions.

When House had found him that night, Wilson had not wanted to hurt him. He trusted House and cared for him, which is why he hadn't moved. He trusted that House wouldn't cause him harm at all, so his instinct had receded. How had he not seen it before?

They both were on the couch now, watching something or other; it all gave Wilson a headache if he tried to keep up with the fast moving pictures. All he saw was the flashing pixels on the screen. He was content just laying there, head in House's lap, inches from sleep.

They really were a screwed up friendship, a werewolf killer-turned-Wonder-Boy-Oncologist and the sarcastic, misanthropic cripple. What a pair. But it worked, and that's all that mattered.

THE END


End file.
